How Long the Fall
by aleximoon
Summary: This is going to be a series of loosely connected drabbles based on BBC's Sherlock and inspired by the prompts from the Big Damn Table. The drabbles will not always be in chronological order. Most of them will heavily feature John/Lock because they are awesome but some side characters may pop in occasionally. It's rated M for a reason.
1. Ends

When the end comes, and it always comes first for Sherlock, it is a surprise. Regardless of where they are, sofabedfloorstairwell ("Be careful there for Mrs. Hudson's sake," John always says.) Sherlock finds that his orgasm is much like everything else in his life, rapid-fire and quick, brilliant spots of light on the insides of his eyelids. There is little warning of its nearness; just the sensation of John pressed against him, andinandoutandonanddevouring him. The rising push and pull makes Sherlock cry out, not just to John but to every sentient being that could understand the power of sex and love.

He would always come hard and unexpectedly taking John by surprise the first few times until the older man realized that Sherlock, who craved control and dominance, had no power over his own body's reactions. And empathetic John, gloriousamazingbeloved John, took Sherlock's inadequacies in stride with no more shaming a reaction than a bemused chuckle and a swipe at the semen dripping down his chin.

And Sherlock loved, ohhowheloved, when the end came. There were no words to describe it in the English language or any other that he knows. John gives his love away easily and Sherlock knows that he doesn't deserve if but he takestakestakes it anyway, greedily grasping for all that John has to give him.

He struggles to find a way to tell John his feelings but the sensation, which moments before was wondrous yet bearable, eclipses everything and his climax overtakes him and the words that he wished to say, lovelovelove, disappear in his mind and for a moment all is silent. The mysteries of the universe open up to him but Sherlock is too sated to care. The knowledge is enough.

And then John chuckles against his neck, amused again by Sherlock's quickness, but none of it matters because John knows how he even feels and he doesn't need the words voiced yet because in the end the love between the two men doesn't need explanations.


	2. Insides

Author's Note: This drabble takes place before John/Lock.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

There was something about corpses that Sherlock found soothing and exciting. He understands that it is a conundrum of grievous proportions that he should react that way to the dead. It has been made clear to him, abundantly, that one should not be soothed or excited by the dead but no matter, Sherlock has never been particularly concerned with what he should and should not feel.

All dead bodies are simply puzzles waiting to be solved. There is the excitement as he observes the evidence leading towards the death and then the satisfaction that breathes through him like a calming drag off a fag once he's puzzled it out. The satisfaction has a limited duration, however, some puzzles ("Murders," the good doctor would say) aren't really puzzles at all but boring things like heart attacks and car accidents. How dull.

This puzzle could be a bit more interesting than normal. Sherlock can barely contain his excitement as he studied the corpse hanging from the wall. The man was naked, bound, gagged, and (one of Sherlock's favorites) eviscerated.

"It started as sexual deviance." He told himself, out loud. "He paid for this service."

Lestrade looked up, "Why would anyone pay for this?"

Sherlock didn't bother to roll his eyes; really, it wasn't even worth the effort. The puzzle warranted far more attention than a bumbling Detective Inspector. "Of course he did not pay to have his insides poured out onto the floor; the money for the prostitute is still in his wallet."

The wallet in question sits open on the hotel room's only table. Even from a distance anyone with even the slightest observational skills should be able to tell that it is full to the brim with bills.

"A sex game gone too far then?" John asks from his vantage point on the other side of the puddled blood and intestines. "He appears to only have been dead a few hours."

"No, a prostitute would have taken the money and a dead john is rarely a repeat client." Sherlock glances at John in order to see his reaction, "It would be bad for business."

John looks away, Sherlock thinks it might be to hide a flash of amusement in his eyes. John does not always approve of Sherlock's sense of humor but he rarely manages to resist it.

The excitement over the crime, however, is fading. He's a little disappointed. He knows that this case was figured out too quickly. It was too simple, despite the messiness of it; the satisfaction will last just as long as an exhale of cigarette smoke and then dissipate into the air.

"It was his wife." Sherlock allows himself a small, bittersweet smile of gratification, "She found out about his indiscretions and killed him."

"I assume that you have more to go on than that, Sherlock." Lestrade asked patiently because he knows that Sherlock can back up whatever bizarre announcement that he makes, he always can.

"She was angry, our killer." Sherlock never looks away from the dead man. "The knife was not very sharp. It took real effort to open him up. The edges are jagged because she had to jerk downwards again and again. Only rage makes a wound like that. I can tell it was a she from the slight indentations in the carpet, stiletto heels, size 6. You won't find many cross-dressers fitting into a heel that small." He motioned towards the edge of the bed. "A woman's wedding ring is there, just under the edge. She threw it at him while he was still alive or else there would be blood on it. I assume that there was some sort of argument going back and forth before the murder, '_Oh, how could you, I loved you! Wait, darling, please put down the knife', _so on and so forth. Really, Detective Inspector, are your people even trying to solve crime these days?"

"But the wife-"Lestrade began but was cut off.

"Yes, the wife," Sherlock is almost angry now, disappointed that this hadn't been as much fun as he had hoped. "The wallet, obviously, it's been left open on a picture of the man and his wife. There's a smudge there, blood that she wiped off, but blood is always harder to remove than people think. She held that wallet after he was dead and probably thought about the good times before she realized that her husband was paying prostitutes to tie him up."

He finally looks away from the corpse. The puzzle is solved, the high was small and already he is feeling that anxious need for something, anything, to fill the void.

"I'm bored now, John."


	3. Beginnings

Author's Note: Another drabble from the start of John and Sherlock's relationship. And when I say relationship I don't mean _relationship_, at least not yet.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

His therapist believed that he had issues with trust. She believed that John Watson had a hard time learning to trust others. But that wasn't the case, not really, John had just discovered that so few people were worthy of his trust.

John trusted Sherlock from the very beginning of their relationship.

There was something oddly comforting in the way that the detective could read John so easily. He imagined that most people found Sherlock's abilities to examine and pass judgment, in mere moments, to be odd and unsettling, euphemistically saying, of course; but not John Watson. No, John was tired of having to explain: his leg, his war, his life, to every new acquaintance. It was refreshing to meet someone that knew almost everything about him instantly. Sherlock did not feel the need to spare John's feelings; hard truths tumbled from the younger man's elegant mouth like kisses along a lover's cheek. Not that there was anything loving about Sherlock. But after everything that John had experienced hearing the truth was welcome and energizing.

Any secret that John had to hide, such as his sister's addiction or his time with the therapist, Sherlock had already deduced. He attacked John with the information in a way that he had probably done with every new acquaintance. John was sure that it was one of the habits that the world's only Consulting Detective used to keep people at bay. But not John, no, he relished the release that the truth provided. He hadn't been as comfortable around another human being in years. It was a strange kind of catharsis and he was sure that his therapist would deem it unhealthy but John did not care.

There was no reason not to trust the man. No reason at all. John knew from the very beginning that Sherlock Holmes was a speaker of truth who felt no measure of pity for a lost and wounded soldier.

John would do whatever the younger man required of him in return for such honesty.


End file.
